


to share a life

by caesarions



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Coming of Age, Falling In Love, M/M, Requited Love, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 05:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesarions/pseuds/caesarions
Summary: Ike always gave everything that he had, so Soren gave himself.





	1. i. before

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for the positive reception on my last ikesoren fic! it encouraged me enough to write this longer one. 
> 
> so, i hope i don't disappoint! this is all just a fancy excuse to write the sharing a bed trope, a true classic.
> 
> happy day of devotion!

“I would love to show you around the place, but I don’t have the time,” Greil mumbled into his leathery knuckles.

“I’ll do it.”

Soren turned around in surprise, although he had no right to be. Ike stood in the doorway of the tent, flap caught on his boyishly spiky hair. The pose was likely as the same as when Soren had overheard Ike convincing his father to take Soren in.

It was not the first time. Ike did not seem to remember that.

“Ah. Thank you, Ike.” Hands falling to his axe belt, Greil grinned. “Although, I’m not quite sure that your interests align. Make sure that you show the boy more than the training grounds.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Ike whipped around. Feeling Greil’s eyes boring holes into his back, he mumbled, “Yes, Father.”

The weather outside sparkled mockingly sunny. On days like these, Soren stayed inside or perched between the roots of a tree as if the shadows could melt his very frame. Reading at night by candlelight alone at the church caused Soren to squint often. Perhaps his strange eye color also had something to do with his sensitivity.

But Ike looked as if the clear sapphire skies were made for him, so Soren had no choice but to follow. His curiosity spurred him on in equal parts. Ike mentioned nothing of remembering Soren, but they had only made idle conversation in public so far.

“...We are going to the training grounds first, but that’s only because they’re the closest,” Ike prefaced, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.

Soren was almost tempted to smile as they left Greil’s makeshift office and quarters behind. He gripped his tome to his chest instead. “That’s fine.”

“Great.” The other boy regained his confident stride. “This way, then.” 

Climbing the dirt path, Soren scrambled up in many steps for just one of Ike’s leaps. Since he had already survived the church’s many stairs, the pair rose to the clearing together. 

Pine trees encircled the grounds, naked and dusty from years of playing at war. Wooden dummies with killing blows from all of the weapon types stood in a silent vigil. To one side, the pines yielded to a field of flowers.

A tawny-haired girl sat in the middle, plucking at whatever blossom caught her fancy. When she noticed their approach, Soren watched her scurry over like a struggling fawn. 

“Ike!” There was an obvious picture of familiarity, although Soren did not remember her from the village. “Are you scaring the new boy?”

“What? No, Mist.” Ike turned to Soren and blinked. “Am I?”

“No.” Soren almost smiled.

Mist hummed, seeming to believe him. “Just making sure. You can be serious like Father sometimes.” She snatched a flower from her own bouquet and turned her delicate features to Soren. “Would you like one? For your eyes.”

Soren stared at the offending red poppy, mouth held open and hackles raised. He scanned the immediate area. Red showed quite rarely in the patch of meadow, so he was surprised Mist would relent this one, but nothing else seemed to be amiss. 

“Now who’s scaring him?” Ike huffed.

“...No, I’ll take it,” Soren muttered. “Thank you.”

“Father was looking for you, Mist,” her brother scolded as Soren finally gripped the stem between his fingertips as if it would break. A very giving family, Soren thought.

Mist rolled her eyes. “Of course. Well, see you guys at dinner!” 

As she jaunted down the hill, Soren pressed the poppy between the covers of his tome. Mist had not been present for Soren’s acceptance, but apparently she had already made up her own mind. 

“Anyway,” Ike chuckled to himself. “This is where I spend most of my time. You can use it as much or as little as you want. If you injure yourself in practice, you can see Rhys, our healer.”

“For what? Paper cuts?” For the banter, Soren softened the normally sharp edge of his tongue. 

“I don’t know. We’ve never had a mage before.” Chuckling, Ike scratched at the back of his neck. “But if you ever want to train together, I’d be more than happy to.” 

Soren could have jested about what could a mage and swordsman possibly have to teach each other. He could have even pointed out how Ike did not look the type to read. Instead, Soren said, “I will keep that in mind.” 

The descent was quiet, as the pine needles muffled even Ike’s footsteps. After such an extended interaction, Soren expected to hear the beating of his heart against his ribs and anxiety his brain, but both were strangely silent. 

Next, they came upon a squat stone building, hastily erected in the Crimean countryside. 

“Speaking of dinner,” Ike continued, “that’s the mess hall. Every meal is on the house. But if you want to bring in outside food, that’s okay, too. Oscar just might get offended.”

“...I usually just have a light sandwich.” Soren squirmed in place. 

Ike’s brows knit in a look of consternation. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Soren responded quickly—too quickly. He crushed his tome to his chest like dead weight. Remembering the poor poppy between the pages, the mage loosened his grip. 

“Well, you can ask Oscar for the ingredients.” As the look melted away, Ike’s mouth twitched up into a grin. “But if you’re ever hungrier than that, I always have at least three extra helpings on my plate.”

“...Alright.” Soren cleared his throat. As a limp apology for driving the conversation south, he jested, “But you look like you need them.”

When Ike guffawed, Soren’s mouth finally formed the vestiges of a smile, as if he had ever learned how in the first place.

Finally, they passed Greil’s tent to approach the second cluster of buildings. All were set in the same stone, begging for another fulfilled job. Not even gold could save the lopsided and littered armory. Soren would have no use for it, anyway. If he decided to stay.

But where else would he go?

“You were in the meeting room already,” Ike pointed to the round hovel across from them. “Boring bossy stuff.”

“I believe the word that you are looking for is administration,” Soren could not help but shoot back.

Instead of taking offense, Ike raised his brows pleasantly and said, “Your sentences are getting longer.”

“...As is this tour,” Soren huffed before saying something incriminating. The clergy did not teach Soren how to speak only to have his words be used against his heart.

“Don’t worry. Last stop,” Ike promised as he swung open the heavy, oaken door.

Midday left the barracks barren, much to Soren’s delight. He dreaded interacting with the company members that were not Ike’s family. 

“Mist and Titania have their own room.” While explaining, Ike motioned to the row of empty bunks. Some sat pristine while others looked like a war had torn through their sheets. Soren surmised that Ike’s was one of the latter. “The rest of us guys sleep here. I hope that’s okay.”

Soren gave a perfunctory nod. “That’s fine.”

After all, he had slept in much worse.

“Once you pick a bed, you can store your stuff under it. We also have a few chests. Just make sure to label it as yours,” the other boy offered. 

“That won’t be necessary.”

It felt like an off-hand comment to Soren, but Ike’s eyes blew wide. “You don’t have anything?”

“The church wasn’t quite fond of worldly possessions,” the mage equivocated. He pictured the neurotic food scraps and extra tomes in his pack. If he had anything else from the church, he would have lost it in his years wandering alone. Soren left that part out, as well as anything before the church, sensing it would upset Ike, the boy he knew everything and nothing about. 

“Which bunks are free?” he asked when Ike stayed silent in abject horror.

“There are three empty doubles in the back.” Ike made a motion behind him. After, his hand came to rest awkwardly on the back of his neck again. He looked to the side. “And… the bed above me is free. We could share.”

Soren willed his expression to freeze, but ice was easily cracked. “...You would offer such a thing?”

“Why not?” Shrugging, Ike tried to lean on a bedpost and misjudged the distance to the oak. Soren graciously ignored his small tumble. “No one else in the company is my age. I thought we could be friends.”

“Why, indeed,” Soren mumbled to himself. Louder and sharper, he continued, “What about that axe fellow? Boyd, was it?”

“Boyd’s cool! But he’s out of training already, so we can’t hang out all the time,” Ike explained.

The other nodded, wishing his bangs would swallow his face. “What makes you so sure that we are? Everyone says I look young for my age.” It was a discrepancy that he planned on looking into.

“But you act older, so I figured the truth was somewhere in the middle. Suddenly, Ike looked grief-stricken. “Was I wrong?”

“No. We are,” Soren relented, letting the tension out of his grip on the tome, “around the same age, I mean. But we can also share.”

The grief disappeared in a flash of radiance. “Great! Oh, uh, the others tell me I snore. Is that okay?”

“...That’s fine, Ike.” An undignified, fond snort bubbled its way up at the image of Ike sprawled out and snoring. Ike blinked before finding something special in Soren’s mirth and began to laugh with him. 

Nothing could change Soren’s decision now, not even if Ike had forgotten.

Not even when Shinon yelled at them to stop whispering on their very first night together, sharing gossip and secrets as children do. Now, Soren would blame his sanguine cheeks on the blood rushing to his head from looking down at Ike.

Later, it would not be so easy to pretend. 


	2. ii. during

Despite Ike’s recent promotion, Soren remained beside him, even as a Begnion soldier approached. After all, it was still Ike under all of those royal titles and rich blue robes. And he had not abandoned Soren when Soren discovered his Branded heritage in the Mainal Cathedral.

Soren did not know where he would go if Ike had.

The mage thought back to Calill’s  _ What kind of low-born greeting is that?  _ earlier in the day with a smile. This seemed to unnerve the soldier; only his lips, slightly parted, were visible under his ceremonial visor. A deadly crimson poppy coloring dominated his armor, contrasting with the Daein snow. 

“General Ike.” Though the soldier’s plated feet stumbled in the muddy ground, his words did not. “I come bearing bad news, sir.”

“What is it?” Soren saw Ike cross his arms at the use of  _ sir _ , even though they had had the time to cross the border into a new country since his appointment.

“Some small, lightweight supplies were touched by the flood and carried away, sir. We have salvaged the stragglers to the best of our ability.” He folded his arms behind him. “Even after closing Talrega’s floodgates, the crossing proved muddy. Some cloth items might be ruined for good, sir.”

Soren clutched his board of papers to his chest, the maps and reports digging into his very ribs.

Ike only shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“Specifically some tents are too heavy to stay upright now, sir. We’ll see what happens when they dry, but that could take days,” the soldier continued. He cocked his head at Ike’s easy demeanor, but Soren knew better as soon as Ike brought his hand to the crook of his neck.

“...I see,” came a slow response. Many considered Ike to be dull, but Soren thought him careful. Even Ike’s rashest of actions had his particular brand of logic behind them. He considered the people that depended on him first, and that list was as long as senator’s speech. (Well, sometimes he was just dull.)

The soldier said, “If I may, sir, it would be recommended for the troops to begin doubling up in tents. Perhaps even tripling. Even if we weren’t short on supply, the Daein weather grows ever colder, sir.”

That was almost too fitting, Soren mused. Perhaps the climate had adjusted to Ashnard’s coronation. Oh, how he had wished for snow in Gallia then, to bury the subhuman villages and Soren along with them. But Ike had taken that part of his story in stride, too.

“Of course. I’ll do the same thing myself.” Ike nodded in confidence. “Spread the word. It’s not an order, though. Ask for volunteers first.” 

“Absolutely, General Ike.”

After a quick heel turn, he sank into the mud with every step. Soren grinned in a grim satisfaction. He had Ike alone to him once more, an increasing rarity since Greil’s passing—mostly grief-stricken stolen moments about that very death. There existed a novel strangeness in being the comforter rather than the comforted, but Soren gave himself wholly to the role. 

“I much prefer your reports,” Ike huffed. 

Soren released his grip on his papers ever so slightly. “Why? Because I have much less to say?”

“No.” Turning to Soren, Ike gave his own smile. “Because it’s you.”

The mage would furiously blame his reddening cheeks on the cold.

“You are their lord and commander,” Soren moved on with haste. “Why should you have to share your tent?”

“I think that great leaders do whatever their men do. At least, that’s what Father always taught me,” Ike shrugged. A shadow passed over his face even as he said it.

It was not the time and place to address it. Another whispered conversation in the cacophonous mess hall would come later. Instead, Soren jested, “An honorable gesture. But some leaders are not inclined to agree.”

“You mean like the senators?”

After a thoroughly scandalized expression, Soren tugged on Ike’s head by his stupid headband, as if it were hair. “Not quite so loudly, you big oaf!”

“Okay, okay!” Through booming laughter, Ike held up his hands in surrender. Sunshine broke out onto the Daein snow for the first time. “Does that mean you’ll share my tent to keep an eye on me?”

Soren let go as the same time that his lips hung open. Of course, the question had been on tip of his tongue and body, energizing his arms in how much his fingertips tapped on his report board.

Of course, Soren had not ventured to ask. Even if he did not mind being referred to as the boy at Ike’s side, he could allow nothing to reflect negatively back onto General Ike. There was no telling what random soldier could distinguish between a spirit charmer and a Branded. 

“If our dalliance with Begnion is on the line, then I must.” Swallowing, Soren retreated to his papers.

“I know you’re just being mean.” The grin was evident in Ike’s voice. “We shared a bunk for so long. I always wondered why we didn’t share a tent when we set out.”

They could only stand outside in this weather for so long. More soldiers required General Ike’s attention, and Soren walked aimlessly in the other direction, keeping his chin lowered. Into the last battle’s report, he mumbled, “Why, indeed.”

Now, he worked on transferring all of his belongings—only a few more and less emergency food than when he had joined the company—to Ike’s tent. Later, they would fall into all of their old habits, whispering about nothing and everything at all into the night. They even added a new ritual. Ike would insist that Soren blow the candle out and sleep instead of study. When Soren would wake up restless at midnight, a stray arm or leg would always block Soren’s escape from his bedroll.

It was getting very difficult to pretend.


	3. iii. after

Abandoning the party as quickly as one does a sinking ship, Soren followed Ike up the stairs. Neither knew who had the idea first. Likely, the traitorous thought popped into their heads at the same time, as things usually went. The pair had the whole of the winding staircase to wonder. If this was the only path to their new bedchambers in Castle Crimea, then perhaps Soren would have asked a bird sub— laguz for a lift.

“I’ve never been more tired in my life,” Ike lamented, “and we fought the Mad King and his forces in the Gardens.”

Having helped Ike move in—though the man brought few possessions beyond his weapons—Soren knew of his attached balcony that overlooked the aforementioned Gardens. Either a cruel jape or a seeming reward, Soren surmised. Perhaps they were one and the same to nobility. Wretched and wrecked cobblestone from feral Rajaion’s claws still glared up at them. A strange kinship for the engaged couple, destined to be apart, took flight in Soren’s heart. “Yes, well. That gathering was the first, but it will not be the last.”

“I know.” Groaning, Ike dragged an enormous hand down his face. As they walked, the torches at the top of the stairs cast deceptive shadows. The army of little fires carved age into the recesses of his face—or perhaps it had already been there.

A preposterous notion. It was unlike Soren to let anything about Ike slip past him. Still, he was gripped by the wild abandon to flatten the new caverns of Ike’s frown lines.

“Sorry. That was rude.” Stopping in front of his chambers, Ike turned and faced Soren. “I’m mad at them, not you. About you.”

The mage raised an eyebrow. “Your left eye is twitching. We can discuss it in the morning.” Even if most of the nobility was downstairs, like fleas on a cat laguz, they were bound to surface as long as the pair stood in a public hall.

“No. I want to make it up to you, since you were standing in a corner and getting ignored the whole night.” Ike pulled a bottle of wine out from behind his cloak. Odd attire for a party, but likely, he felt naked without it.

Soren’s retort that it was his specialty died on the tip of his tongue. Such comments were always met with a look of consternation, and he did not wish to add to the crease in Ike’s brows. Soren knew was being truly ignored felt like—like the depths of despair. In reality, the nobles had instead regarded him with one wandering eye and a pale cheek full morbid curiosity but kept a careful distance. Ike would never be able to comprehend the difference, nor accept that kind of treatment for Soren, even if it was much easier to swallow in Soren’s own opinion.

Soren only said, “Better ignored than hounded with invasive questions.”

The worst of which was inquiring to Ike’s... relations.

“Since this was a party for me,” Ike spitting the word out like a curse, “I figured I could borrow some of the party favors.”

“Did you borrow some glasses, as well?” Soren asked with a wry smile.

Ike had the good sense to laugh at himself. “Of course not. I’m not a world-famous tactician.”

“Company-famous at best,” the mage muttered before he could still his tongue. Even that claim was disputable after Shinon’s return to their ranks.

“If you’re really not known all across Tellius yet, you should be.” He was grave for just a moment before holding out the wine bottle with a grin. “Even if I messed up, will you share it with me?”

The same sweeping emotion almost knocked Soren off of his feet. He wondered in that moment if he had not taken the feral drug himself. “Always.”

A welcome sight for his similarly flaming cheeks, once they shut the door to the hall’s torches, the only light in Ike’s bedchambers came from the moon. Its silvery tendrils streamed in through the glass doors to the balcony and trapped them into closeness.

If it were not the middle of the night, they might have drank outside, pointedly ignoring the Gardens below. Anywhere else would have made more sense to drink, but the Greil Mercenaries always did what was the most stupid. Perhaps unexpected, if Soren was being kind to himself.

So, they sat perched on Ike’s bed, close enough for their knees to brush gently together. The blood red liquid dangled precariously over the cream sheets. A bedroll that color would not survive one night in the field. Soren was taken by a third wild urge to purposefully spill some of the wine onto their royal threads.

“I feel too young to be doing this,” Ike huffed. The pop of the cork broke Soren free from his vindictive thoughts. “I feel like Father will appear at any time and knock the drink out of my hands.”

Soren’s shoulders tensed as he scanned for the telltale signs, a new symptom carefully categorized with each outburst of grief. When Ike only continued to unwind, Soren gave his own smile. “After this year, I believe that you’re qualified to do whatever you wish.”

“A whole year.” Mumbling and staring off, Ike handed the bottle to him. Soren thought about their lips occupying the same space momentarily, but he shrugged and downed the liquid. It was honeyed and sickly sweet. “And this is our reward.”

“More work, you mean?” the mage inquired after swallowing.

“More like who we’re working with,” Ike elaborated. The wine hovered between them. The swordsman had reached to grab the bottle but lost the energy halfway. Their fingertips brushed on the glass. “Tell me the truth, Soren. Are you happy staying in Melior?”

The corner of Soren’s mouth twitched downwards. If Ike had only asked if he was fine with it, Soren might have gotten away with a lie. “...Except for the royal library, no.”

“But will you stay?”

Soren gaped, his wine-tinted lips falling open like wilting blossoms.

“Of course, Ike,” he answered all too quickly. The words were well-practiced, if not pitiful. “Where else would I go?”

“Wherever you want. I just wanted to give you the choice.” Ike finally wrapped callused fingers around the wine bottle. He stared at it as if it were something alien before taking an all too aggressive swig of the liquid courage. “...But I’m happy to hear that. I am.”

“But I don’t suppose that you’re happy in Melior, either.” This could not be the schism, the time they finally disagreed in opinion.

“Unhappy enough to consider returning to our old outpost, yeah.” He shrugged with the weight of the world. “Becoming mercenaries again.”

The vestiges of Soren’s heart threatened to jump out of his throat and stain the bed. Before meeting Ike, his pessimism would have pointed out the fact that they could never be just mercenaries again. Perhaps his pessimism was correct. But now, Soren proposed, “Who said that we ever stopped?”

“Elincia did,” Ike countered. “That’s why I also considered rescinding my lordship.”

“Ike!” Soren’s whole body seized with an equal mix of relief and regret.

“Not yet. I wouldn’t leave Elincia high and dry,” he huffed, as if Soren had ever considered him capable of such a thing. “Whenever she’s settled in. I don’t know when that’ll be. But if tonight was just a taste of what’s to come, I’d rather starve.”

Closing crimson eyes, Soren pressed his palms to his lids, as if the minuscule moonlight could be the cause of his sudden migraine. He could not even stop to appreciate Ike’s use of food metaphors. When Ike offered him the bottle again, Soren gently pushed it away. “Now that is something we will discuss in the morning.”

“I don’t even get to wear a funny hat.” The corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile just for Soren. “But okay. I value your opinion.”

Though it was said after a jest, it did not sound like one.

“You should value the others’ opinions, as well,” Soren played at diplomacy.

Ike gave a perfunctory nod. “I do. I think only Shinon and Gatrie would miss the palace life. They spend all of their time chasing skirts, which I don’t really understand.”

...On second thought, Soren snatched the wine from him and took a long, hard swallow.

They drank the rest of the bottle away by passing it back and forth in a steady rhythm, like the safe and familiar tempo of a battle. By that time, so too had the night fled on dark wings. The moon had climbed high enough in the sky to leave Ike’s chambers in darkness. Perhaps the cloak of night gave even greater courage than the alcohol.

“Soren?” Ike murmured after the long stretch of comfortable silence.

Red eyes blinked slowly at his name, the events of the day catching up to him. “Yes, Ike?”

“Will you stay?”

Maybe they were more lost in the honeyed fog that Soren thought. Either that or Ike was the one wearing his insecurities on his sleeve for once. “I already said yes.”

“Here,” Ike continued. The bed dipped in Ike’s favor. Though they were in the dark, his mind’s eye saw Ike scratch the back of his neck every time anxiety arose. “Will you stay here?”

“...Why?” Soren’s voice hovered in that dangerous space between a desperate question and a disinterested statement.

“It’s just been a weird week.” The warrior remained leaning back, far from Soren. The tension in his pose emanated into the room and seeped into the stone walls. “And we were drinking. You could fall.”

An unbidden smile tested Soren’s porcelain cheeks. They threatened to shatter and reveal the words he actually wanted to say. “My room is just across the hall, Ike.”

“Fine. You’ve fallen back into the habit of working all night. Your eyes get bags and your hair gets flat and oily.”

The smile stretched into a thin red gash. Soren pushed the traitorous locks behind him. The first statement was self-evident, the second only for Ike. When Soren agonized over the company’s next plans into the wee hours of the morning, his hands ended up buried in his bangs in frustration. These days, he lamented their lack of plans.

The mage almost laughed wildly at his own surprise. He noticed every little thing about Ike, so why wouldn’t Ike give Soren the same treatment?

_Why would anyone_? the feral child from the woods thought.

“You could only stop me because we shared a tent after Talrega,” Soren pointed out. He did not mention that, even after getting more supplies, they had continued to do so.“We don’t need to anymore.”

“Why not?” The bed returned to equilibrium.

He lowered his chin and mumbled. “Why, indeed.”

Ike cleared his throat, deafening under the pressure. “If you don’t sleep, then we can’t talk in the morning.” Some unseen force pressed their knees closer together. “And I just care about you.”

Despite the thundering in his chest, Soren had heard Ike correctly. Soren allowed a wet sheen to cloud his eyes since the moon was not present to reveal his secret. Of course, his voice still did.

“I’ll stay.”

Both men leaned forward and let their shoulders sag. As the tension dissipated into the floor and dripped out into the ruined Gardens, a silent understanding replaced it.

Ike placed the empty bottle on the side table. The grapes and honey in their veins caused them to move slowly. Giving up after removing just his shoes and cloak, Ike flopped back into bed, his weight almost bouncing Soren off. Chuckling, Soren stood up to remove his mage’s robes at the very least. “Do you plan on getting under the covers?”

This groan of Ike’s was good-natured. He rolled off of the bed and onto the floor to let Soren pull the woolen blankets back. He was not being dramatic; he was just young.

Soren laughed again as they slipped into bed.

He took the side closest to the door. Even then, he regretted not undressing further. Despite being free of Daein’s weather, the heavy wool hugged them like a second skin. He also had a human furnace lying like a boulder beside him. Perhaps that was not all that caused Soren to sweat.

“They will talk,” Soren mumbled, light-headed and red as poppies as the alcohol and reality slammed into one other.

“Hm?”

“If we share a room.” Ike had rolled around to face him, but Soren did not return the favor for once in his life. “About me being— me.” Be it Branded, a spirit charmer, brutally honest, too small and thin. He had heard all of the nobles’ grievances during his first time studying in the royal library. Back when Ike did not remember their first meeting.

Ike threw one giant yet gentle arm about him. “Let them.”

Soren gaped into the darkness at the simplicity of it all.

“...Yes. Let them,” he repeated, as if it were a spell for confidence. He had tricked himself into some vestige of the emotion, at least. Under the careful vigil of Ike’s arm, he could not conjure up even one disastrous scenario.

Maybe he could have for his relationship with Ike, but any bad endings there eluded his anxious mind as well.

The other fell asleep instantly, as he always did. Soren assumed that he would take hours, as he always did alone in his castle chambers. When they had shared a tent, the time had been reduced to about an hour.

With Ike’s wine-sweet breaths tickling his neck, the mage’s red eyes closed in minutes. Even his last thoughts ran more like a lullaby.

Even Rajaion and Ena had received their happy ending amongst the Gardens’ flowers. Ike had always shared his space with Soren, as well as much more. In return, Soren had shared his very soul.

In the days soon to come, Soren was confident that he could share the truth of his heart, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! comments/kudos are always appreciated so i can know if people want more :-)


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